Wedded Bliss
by KMREE
Summary: A slightly longer look at how Anthony and Edith's relationship could work out, if only someone had had the brains to fix it! Prevention is definitely better than cure.
1. Chapter 1

She had known that something was wrong. Yesterday, at the luncheon at Eryholme, he had seemed distant, and any mention of the upcoming nuptials seemed to make him start. She had always known that his ridiculous excuses would resurface at some point. At one point he seemed to delight in reminding her of their age difference, not to mention the many references to himself as a "cripple."

She would have thought that her father, not to mention her grandmother, had the cutting comments department covered without his help, but so often his demons reared their ugly heads and made him doubt everything - not least their relationship.

She lay in bed pondering the problem as the early-morning sunlight crept through the window. This would be her last morning waking in her own bed at Downton, she realised. Tomorrow she would awake at Locksley, with her husband beside her. As long as his doubts didn't get the better of him.

She needed to see him, she realised with sudden clarity. She needed to look into his eyes, before the ceremony, and make him see that this was the best possible thing for them, and that it was what she truly wanted.

Happier now that she had a plan, she slipped out of bed and dressed quickly bypassing her wedding gown that hung, already pressed, from the wardrobe awaiting her. A beautiful sheath of ivory satin, and that gorgeous cape and train.

Not that she wanted to be petty, especially today, but she couldn't help thinking again how much nicer her dress was, than Mary's had been. All those months of planning and fittings, and asking every conceivable person their opinion had resulted, in Edith's eyes at least, something that resembled an extraordinarily over-priced lace nightgown rather than a dress to spend the happiest day of one's life in.

Perhaps there were perks to having a much smaller affair than her sister's. In barely a month she had organised everything with very little help, even from her mother, who seemed to be less enchanted by the idea of planning a second wedding.

But that was for later. At least the reign of corsets had ended with the war and she could dress herself without the help of a maid when necessary.

Opening the door to her bedroom she was glad that she was correct in her assumption that it was far too early for any of the family to be up. She could hear the servants moving about but, hopefully, she could be out and back again before anyone realised where she had gone.

Moving downstairs she caught one of the hall-boys, asked him to get Jenkins to bring one of the cars around, and left a message that she had gone out for some fresh air, in case anyone should ask for her. Surely no-one would begrudge the bride a few moments of solitude before the chaos of the wedding began.

She drove quickly along the empty country lanes. Anthony was certainly not sugar-coating the truth when he said she was a speed-fiend. It seemed the only time she felt truly free was when she was whizzing along the Yorkshire roads, hair flying and fully in control of the motor. No-one telling her what to do or where to go.

Perhaps he had a point though, she realised, as she arrived at the driveway to Locksley in barely ten minutes.

She was fully aware that turning up on the doorstep of one's fiancé in the early morning a mere matter of hours before the ceremony was due to take place was hardly customary but, fortunately for her, Anthony's butler could almost rival Carson for his lack of reaction.

He politely showed her into the breakfast room to wait and went to fetch his master. She wandered over to the window, which looked out on Locksley's gardens. She loved this view. The idea that all she surveyed would…could … no _should_ all be hers.

Now that she was here she began to doubt the sense of her actions. As far as ways to persuade a potentially doubting fiancé to go through with the wedding, perhaps turning up like a lunatic at his house before he had even had a chance to dress was not the most mature of decisions.

Still, she was here. She needed to see it through. And, incidentally, persuade him to do likewise.

'Edith.' His voice startled her from behind.

He just stood there waiting for her to speak. She suddenly felt foolish again.

She took a deep breath and began. 'Anthony, I just needed to see you before we meet at the church. To make sure that..' she faltered. 'To know that …well…that we are…'

'Edith, I quite understand.' He had obviously decided to come to her rescue.

'It's quite alright, and much better for you to say so now. I will happily tell your parents, there need be no awkwardness or qualms on your part.'

She started out of the haze of confusion that had begun as she floundered with her words. 'What on earth are you saying Anthony?,' she demanded.

A look of genuine puzzlement crossed his face. 'Simply that I quite understand why you would want to call the wedding off, my darling. And please don't worry – we can sort it out without your parents being too angry. It's far better to do it now, however last-minute it may be, than to regret it after the fact.'

'STOP!' The ferocity of her exclamation startled even her cutting him off mid-sentence. 'That sort of nonsense is exactly why I wanted to see you before it all happens. To stop you thinking of all those stupid excuses again, and letting your doubts ruin all chance of happiness for us both. I mean what I say when I tell you that I love you. I always have, and just because you and my family seem intent on ruining that, and refusing to believe me, it doesn't make it any less true.'

They both fell silent as her words seemed to finally sink in.

'My darling, are you truly sure you won't wake up in ten years' time and wonder why you're tied to this crippled old codger?' he pressed gently.

'Quite sure, for the final time. Unless you continue to talk such nonsense.'

She finally managed to win a wry smile from him. 'Very well then. But might I suggest you return home now? I would hate to have to explain to your father why you are here this early in the morning!'


	2. Chapter 2

Incredibly, no-one had even noticed the bride missing from her bed on the morning of her wedding. It would have been amusing at least, to cause a little panic. But there were advantages to being the most-overlooked of the three Crawley sisters, she mused as she crept back into the house and into the dining room.

Her last morning in this dining room in fact. It was rather a morning of 'lasts', hopefully leading to an afternoon (and night) of 'firsts.'

The most irritating part of Mary and Sybil both being married was their insistence on exercising their rights as married women to have breakfast in their rooms. It had always seemed like such a ludicrous detail of etiquette, and something that had never bothered her until recently but, with both of her sisters upstairs, breakfast alone with her father could get rather stilted.

Yet another thing she would be grateful to be rid of after today.

Her father was already there, greeting her with a cheery 'hallo' before returning to the far more enthralling topic of the farm building renovations with Tom and Matthew. Perhaps she should have announced her engagement to someone as wholly unsuitable as Tom if only to get a response from her father.

He still wasn't enamoured of the idea of her marrying Anthony, but he was exactly what her father had always wanted for his daughters. He still thought of the world as it had existed before the war. An aristocratic idyll where young, wealthy suitors were ten-a-penny and the idea of his daughters having to smudge the borders of age or social class in order to marry was unthinkable. Not she would ever think of herself as 'settling' for Anthony.

Even without the war, and the decimation of the male half of her generation, she would have been ecstatic to accept Anthony. Something no-one in her family seemed capable of understanding. They all conveniently forgot that she had practically been engaged to him before the war. Would have been married to him if it hadn't been for Mary and the sudden announcement of war. She could have been a wife of eight years by now, her children the oldest of the next generation of Grantham children.

Edith excused herself and ran back upstairs leaving the men to their discussion of the finer points of estate management.

Upstairs was a maelstrom of preparation as Cora, for once out of bed before breakfast, had whipped all the available women of the house into a frenzy of pre-wedding organisation. Mary, sensibly enough, had had the foresight to not leave her room yet - not that she had ever been someone to put herself out for someone else without the promise of a return of some kind.

However much she tried to mend the relationship with her older sister, it was no use. Mary might be all smiles and simpering-sweet congratulations later but Edith knew the true feeling of her sister would actually be a mix of patronising bemusement that Edith was actually getting married, and mild irritation that she should be a lady of the estate before Mary herself.

But on to more pressing things. Her dress was ready and waiting, having arrived from Lucille the day before. Silk and embroidered and far nicer than Mary had looked wafting around the church looking for all intents and purposes as though Anne Catherick had lost her way and needed help to return to the pages of Mr. Collins' novel. _Catty, Edith _she though to herself. _But amusing all the same. _

Her mother's fussing would easily fill the few hours between now and when they had to arrive at the church. Fashion dictated she be a little late (bride's prerogative naturally) but she had no intention of making the poor man wait - he didn't need any more excuses to try and do the unthinkable!

Between the fuss of finally getting dresses, accompanied by her sisters' well-intentioned gossiping and a few last sharp comments from her grandmother the morning was whiled away until, at last, everyone had departed for Downton Church and she stood, her father at her side, finally ready to leave Downton for the last time as a Crawley.

Her father had put her sudden departure from breakfast down to nerves and wisely didn't try to engage her in conversation on the short drive.

They managed to get the photographer to take the picture she had wanted of the three Crawley sisters before the ceremony. It seemed vaguely fitting to capture that moment in their lives - all of them embarking on a new episode of life, and for possibly the last time all of them together at the same time. Edith felt strangely sad at that realisation, but shook off the sense of foreboding that struck her. It was a day of joy - there was nothing that should make any of them sad.

Mary and Sybil hurried into the church at their father's insistence before he turned back and offered his arm to the last of his daughters. The last to get married - perhaps she should be bitter at the thought of that. Perpetually last, but not left out. Not now, from now until her last day on earth she would finally mean the world to someone, the one person she truly loved above all others, soon to be her husband.

Beaming at her father she entered the church and started the procession up the aisle towards her future.


	3. Chapter 3

_I am officially announcing that I am not meant to be a romance writer - ever! So rather than stumble through an awkward love-scene (which I made several excruciating attempts to write) we are fading out 1950's -movie style and reopening the scene in Italy on the honeymoon._

Italy was as beautiful as everyone had promised. The heat in Rome had been rather too much, despite it being too early for the full force of summer, but in Venice they had found their own personal slice of paradise. The month-long honeymoon had been extended somewhat, neither of the newlyweds being too eager to end the trip, both happy to while away the summer days among the canals and palaces.

They would have to return to reality sooner or later of course, but later was far preferable to sooner in Edith's opinion. She smiled across the breakfast table at her husband who was working his way through the small pile of letters that had arrived via the embassy. Edith sighed. Not that they were bothered much with news from home, but it did seem that in this day and age it was impossible to disappear completely, even for a few weeks. Her husband. She still couldn't quite get used to the word. Every time someone referred to her as 'Lady Strallan' she had the inexplicable urge to giggle. An amazing display of maturity considering she had been wanting and waiting to be Lady Strallan for nigh on ten years, she admonished herself. In her defence she had been Edith Crawley for twenty-eight years, it was always going to take more than a couple of months to accustom oneself to a new name and identity, however much that name was wanted. And a couple of months was all that she had had so far.

They had left Downton immediately after the wedding, stopping for a few days at Anthony's London home before journeying south from through France, which still naturally bore the scars of war. Anthony hadn't seemed to want to linger there, something that Edith could perfectly comprehend, and so they moved quickly into Switzerland, staying for a few nights' rest at a charming little _pension_ in Geneva before crossing the border into Italy. To Edith, who had little enough experience of travel prior to this, nothing could be as beautiful as the Tuscan countryside, endless rolling hills and quaint villages. And they had a whole lifetime ahead of them to travel more. She could quite fancy spending more time in Switzerland. There was nothing quite like the mountain air and sense of peace and quiet to restore oneself.

Lost in her reverie Edith suddenly realised that her husband was smiling indulgently at her, waiting for a reply of some kind. She blushed and had to ask him to repeat himself.

'I simply wondered what it was to be today. A return visit to one of the galleries? Or is it to be the dreaded _campanile_?' Edith rolled her eyes, 'For goodness sake Anthony, it is perfectly safe, and is supposed to have beautiful views.'

She humoured her husband's reply that a tower that had collapsed into a pile of rubble a mere twenty years' ago with very little reason could hardly be considered 'safe.'

'But it's been rebuilt and, as for a reason, I think shallow foundations and poor maintenance count as a reason…

She broke off at the look on Anthony's face. He had turned his attention to a letter that had arrived among the morning's post. Whatever it contained was obviously serious. Business problems could follow them even here it seemed.

She returned to buttering her toast, thinking it best to leave him to his internal musings until he was ready to share, when he looked straight at her with a worried look on his face.

'Edith…' he began uncertainly with a crack in his voice. Unsure of how to continue he mutely handed the paper across to her. It was from her father she noted quickly with a flash of irritation that he had addressed himself to Anthony rather than herself - he could be so ridiculously old-fashioned sometimes. She skimmed it briefly wondering what could be so important as to warrant her father writing, rather than her mother. She blinked, and then read the letter in its entirety again. And again, the words refusing to clarify themselves, blurring on the paper in front of her.

Finally she raised her eyes to her husband. The look of compassion on his face confirmed the horror that she had just read. 'Sybil's dead'.


	4. Chapter 4

The return journey was a cruel mockery of the joy that had accompanied the outward trip. Edith couldn't get home fast enough, but the post-war European transport systems didn't seem to understand her desperation. The journey homeward seemed never-ending. On the journey out, still basking in the newly-married glow, every moment a new experience and sensation, she had wanted it to last forever. Hours shut away together in their private compartment watching the continent dash past the windows, being rocked by the motion of the train she would happily have stayed like that indefinitely. The only thing that could surpass it was arriving at hotel after sumptuous hotel as they slowly meandered their way south, basking in the summer sun and in the glow that surrounded them both.

Every day a new corner of the Continent to explore arm in arm, every evening another fashionable restaurant or stroll along the sea-front, every night a wonder of new sensations and feelings previously left unexpressed, finally free to acknowledge the love she felt for this most wonderful of men, the man she could at last call her husband.

Now, the return journey stumbled interminably onwards, forcing a harsh contrast of the joy she had previously felt at each stopping-point. They had sent a telegram from Venice to let her family know that they were returning as quickly as possible. Not that there was much that could be done, nothing except endure. She still couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it until she had seen her family face-to-face again. Sybil was so full of life, by far the most vivacious and life-affirming of the three. Mary's attitude to the world seemed to be one of superiority and mocking tolerance for others, Edith (in her old life at least) was the reliable one who faded into the background. Sybil was the darling of the family, always cheerful, always content, forever striving to make every situation a little bit better than when she found it. Poor Tom, the agonies he must be enduring. Edith scarcely dared think of life without Anthony. She wasn't blind to the fact that there would almost certainly be a time when she was alive and he was not. Despite what her parents thought, she did understand the difference in their ages and what marriage to him might eventually entail. And yet also might not. No-one would ever have though that Sybil would be the one Death would take from the Crawley family. Life could be so cruel to give a person everything, and then rip it from them in one brief, terrible moment.

They were back in Geneva, forced into the necessity of another overnight stay by the inclement weather. Anthony was already organising their rooms and luggage and Edith sank directly into a chair by the fire, grateful once more for the wonderful man beside her who took it upon himself to make everything easier for her in any way he could.

Geneva was beautiful, she would love to spend more time here one day - improve her French perhaps. She smiled bitterly, remembering Sybil's scathing summation of women's education. 'No-one ever learned anything from a governess, except for French and how to curtsey.' French had seemed to pass them all by, none of them had ever mastered the language, despite the fact Mary delighted in pretending to be fluent. Not that French and curtseying had helped Sybil. It seemed such a cruel roll of the dice. A happy, healthy woman on the brink of new life one minute, then gone the next and no-one could do anything about it.

'Is there anything I can get you, my darling?' The voice interrupted her mournful reverie. She smiled ruefully up at her husband.

'No, but thank you. I think I shall just try and get some rest, we should start early tomorrow if at all possible.'

He came and sat beside her staring ahead into the fire. She cuddled up gratefully to him. Some people truly had a gift for making others feel better, she mused to herself. Sybil certainly was one, and it was beginning to appear that she had married another such person.

It was several days of travel before the honeymooning couple eventually arrived home. Not quite the home-coming Edith had been anticipating. It should have been a triumphant arrival at her new home with the servants out in force to greet their new mistress. She loved Locksley, even at her first glimpse of it she was sure that there was more happiness to be found inside its gingerbread-house exterior, compared to the Victorian gothic grandeur of Downton. Mary had been desperate to stay always at Downton (preferably with the Countess' coronet firmly on her head) but perpetually-ignored Edith had never seen much worth clinging to in its harsh and unyielding lines. It belonged to Mary, that was for certain.

Instead, Edith and Anthony arrived at Locksley for the first time as a married couple late one night after having caught the last train from London and arriving in near-darkness. Mrs. Crenshaw, Anthony's housekeeper, had made sure to greet them properly and serve them a good meal but it tasted like ash in her mouth. Anthony had insisted she would be doing no-one any favours by dashing straight to Downton and had persuaded her to rest for the night so that the trials of tomorrow could be faced but she was with her family in thought, if not yet in presence.

It was now almost ten weeks since their wedding. It was not quite what Edith had hoped for from this time, she had planned this time to be a chance for her to settle into her new life and role as mistress of Locksley. There was certainly enough to get to grips with. Locksley, while certainly not as large nor as formal a set-up as Downton, was still a hefty responsibility. Despite being secure in her marriage she couldn't help but feel a little daunted by the servants. She hoped it was just her imagination but she felt like an interloper at times in the household, a naive young girl trying to step into the late Lady Strallan's shoes. Still, no-one can make you feel inferior without your permission, as Granny was so fond of saying. An adage that she had always thought would serve her well in life.

After a brief stop at her new home it was necessary to return to her old, in far less happy circumstances than she had left it.

**Firstly, apologies for the ridiculously-long interval in writing, life has taken over a little. Thanks to anyone who is still reading! Not sure if Anthony's housekeeper is ever named (?) and does anyone know which is the correct spelling of Loxley/Locksley? I seem to find both spellings on different pages.**


	5. Chapter 5

The next day dawned eventually, although Edith had been awake before the lark, trying to busy herself until an appropriate time. They drove over in silence immediately after breakfast.

Tom seemed a shadow of his former self. He stayed upstairs in the nursery for the largest part of the day, her mother trying to coax him down for food or company but it appeared that the only company he needed was that of his newborn daughter. The child barely made a sound. Edith, at first, worried that it too was soon bound for the next world, but it seemed as though little Sybil could sense the solemnity that encompassed the house and didn't even break the mournful silence with a single cry.

Even her father had been hit hard by Sybil's death. A man usually so stoic as to be mistaken for callous, he seemed shrunken in on himself. The argument between her parents certainly wasn't helping matters. Nor, indeed, was arguing over something that couldn't be changed a healthy pastime, but it was clear Cora needed something, or someone, on which to focus her grief. And that something had manifested itself as a need to blame her husband. The doctor had already left, fleeing the scene of death as soon as barely appropriate - eager to distance himself from this tragic loss. Edith couldn't bring herself to blame him.

Edith felt worse by the day that she hadn't been here when it happened. Not that she could have done anything, she wouldn't even had had a right to decide on the operation or not, that should have been Tom's decision alone. But knowing that she had been whiling the days away in a haze of blissful ignorance while such devastating events had been unfolding at home was enough to sour even her memories of the honeymoon. What right did they have to play at fools in love while such a blow was dealt to her family. Anthony was proving himself to be ever more perfect in her eyes, her rock and support in all things. Though she knew, even without him saying, how poor Sybil must be reminding him of his first wife. Edith was no child, she knew perfectly well that he had had a life and a marriage before her. She wasn't the type to close her eyes to the facts, he had told her himself that the fact she had been willing to ask him about Maude had been one of the first things that had convinced him that she was truly an extraordinary young lady. But knowing that he had once been in this position himself, when she had been little more than a child, was hard to grasp at times.

The funeral had been hastily organised, the usual platitudes and murmured condolences from friends and neighbours barely breaking through the despondent haze that permeated the house and all its inhabitants. It was after the service was done, when the family had once more resumed their positions in the house; Tom above stairs with Sybbie, Mary and Cora taking endless tea in the drawing room whilst the latter studiously ignore any overtures for peace from her husband, that Anthony stated he was taking her home. It certainly wasn't healthy to be constantly in that environment, though what else could be waiting for her at her new home than more despondency she didn't know. The sense of helplessness that comes with death is worse than any other event that might befall a person. Illness or injury can be treated, financial disaster can be solved, any problem gives arise to a need for action. It is the dreadful inaction of grief that damages a person so. Anthony could recognise that even if his wife was not yet cognisant of the fact.

And so time passed for those living at Downton, and those not far away at Locksley. Edith settled into her new role as wife and mistress of the house. She had plenty of time to learn it seemed, the traditional mourning period for her sister preventing the usual plethora of social calls a new bride would normally expect. All well and good for Edith who had never really enjoyed the meaningless prattle of polite society.

Her family too continued with their lives as best they could. However catastrophic the loss, life must continue. Her parents at least were on better terms, mostly due to the news that they would soon be welcoming a new grandchild. Mary and Mathew were finally gratifying the Earl of Grantham by providing the longed-for heir. Another reason Edith didn't want to spend much time at her former home these days. The baby was the only topic of conversation and the spectre of Sybil's death still weighed heavily on the atmosphere.

Here at Locksley however, everything was hers. No sharing of possessions (or more importantly attention) with Mary. No need to forever be accompanying her mother on pointless calls and errands. Life was much simpler now she was married; if they didn't want to venture out into the world, they didn't have to. They could remain at home cocooned in their own little corner of the world. And that was just the way she liked it, she decided.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a miserable day in late October. A particularly bleak and dispiriting kind of day, one which served only to remind you that summer had long ago fled and yet it was still too early to embrace Christmas cheer. Inside the house however, with a fire happily flickering away in each room, things were a different matter.

Marriage hadn't changed her as such, but it certainly had made her so much happier. Not only for the obvious reasons, but it allowed her to be herself and live on her own terms. It had also enabled her to pursue her interests without the risk of Mary making a mockery of them, or her father putting an end to any ideas of hers with a faintly disapproving frown and a hasty, 'I don't think so, Edith' over breakfast. She was now able to immerse herself in farming more so than even during the war. Not only did Anthony encourage her to drive her own car so as to give her more independence (and incidentally be able to resume their pre-war drives, just with a change of driver) he took her with him on his visits to the farms and actually valued her opinions on what should be changed.

She could finally understand what it meant to be a truly valued member of a family, her ideas respected, her opinion sought and her wishes fulfilled. Even filling the role of 'Lady Strallan' was no longer so intimidating. Once the staff understood she had no wish to meddle in affairs that had run perfectly well without her for years, they were far more inclined to accept the change in circumstances. Which meant she was free from an awkward struggle to assert her dominance over the housekeeper, and free to enjoy more time of her own. Mostly with her husband, who was currently watching her from his desk in the library with a affectionate look of mild bemusement on his face.

'You're frowning my sweet one - is _The Times_ meeting with particular disapproval today?'

She laughed, 'Just this one so-called journalist who has written a horribly insulting piece on exactly why women should stay chained in the kitchen or drawing room. Apparently we are menaces to society when we enter any other avenue of life!'

'I would never call you a menace my darling, apart from when you are behind the wheel perhaps.' He chuckled again and returned to his books. 'Although if he really is that much of an obnoxious little twerp maybe you should write and tell him so.'

'Mmm, maybe I will' she mused half to herself. She had never been overtly political, that had always been dear Sybil's _forte_. Even now, as a married woman, she had the vote but couldn't muster up much interest in using it. Nothing ever changed in politics anyway, no matter who was in charge. The poor stayed poor, and the rich (for the most part) stayed rich. Although that was changing now with the introduction of inheritance tax, and the loss of so many heirs. Downton had been able to weather the storm thanks to Mathews business-mindedness and a fortuitous inheritance, but so many other great houses had not been so lucky.

She would never be one for chaining herself to railings, but she thought it truly ridiculous that, as a married woman, she was considered intelligent and sober enough to be given a vote and yet a few months previous she wasn't. It wasn't like men had to prove their suitability to have the vote. It used to be based on land ownership - giving only men who had a stake in the country the right to decide its future, an idea Edith could at least appreciate, but there were no such restrictions for men now. Only the insane and the incarcerated were prohibited from voting, God forbid, however, that an intelligent, thinking, politically-savvy woman be given the vote simply because she was single. They thought, of course, that giving it to married women was basically the same as doubling the man's vote - he would be expected to guide his wife towards an appropriate choice. Not that Anthony would ever try something so ridiculous as to change her mind. When she was set on something that was that. As he discovered in the matter of their wedding.

But is was infuriating that almost a quarter of the way through the twentieth century some idiot could be as blind and provoking as to write such an insulting piece. It had started as an off-hand comment but she was seriously starting to consider writing to the editor to give him a piece of her mind. She drew out paper and ink from the bureau and chewed the tip pensively.

_Dear Sir, _she began._ Upon reading the recent commentary on the so-called 'dangers' of modern womanhood, I feel compelled to address such concerns and add a voice of reason. _

She loved her new-found freedom to express her ideas. Her father would have entered into an apoplexy if he had known she was publicly writing to a newspaper on any other matter than an advertisement for a lady's maid, yet her husband had actually suggested it. Yet another reason to do it, she pondered, as an expression of her changed status now that she was married, not to mention another chance to sign her married name.

_Lady Edith Strallan_

How well it sounded, even if she did say so herself. One was used to one's maiden name of course after so many years. Yet it was amazing how quickly, and willingly, she had shed the skin of Edith Crawley and embraced her new persona.

Finishing the letter she noticed the light beginning to fade. Winter was on the horizon, and the peculiarly colourless late-afternoon light so representative of an English winter was bleaching the landscape outside the window.

She set down the pen and turned towards her husband. 'Shall I ring for tea?'


	7. Chapter 7

With Christmas less than a week away the house was full of spirits and good-cheer. Edith had always loved decorating Downton for Christmas but she relished the novelty of being in charge of everything this year. Although on a slightly more modest scale (the entrance hall at Locksley not being quite able to deal with a 12-foot tree), the fact the decisions were all her own made it even more beautiful.

She had even persuaded Mary to come and visit, a rare excursion out of the house with little George following Mathew's death. Fate could be so cruel sometimes. Not content with having ripped Sybil our of their lives, Mathew had followed only a few months later on the day of his son's birth. Such a senseless waste of life, in such a stupid accident. Not that it would ever stop Edith driving but she couldn't help but be sobered by the accident.

Still, Christmas is nothing if not a time for renewal and family. Despite their years of animosity Edith was determined to keep to that mantra. Mary had ensconced herself in the drawing room at Locksley, drinking endless tea and 'helping' Edith by criticising her every move. Some things apparently never change, Edith sighed to herself internally. Although with a living husband (even one who Mary considered beneath her) and a beautiful home, she was wary of upsetting Mary.

The bell of the front door rang just as Edith was hanging the last ornament, precariously balanced on a chair.

'The afternoon post, milady.' Their butler had appeared below her as silent as ever. She couldn't help but wonder exactly how butlers of the ilk of Carson and Staines were trained to move so quietly.

'Thank you Staines. Leave it on the table, please.' The tree took precedence over whatever had arrived in the post. Probably another round of business letters for Anthony and a few cursory notes inviting the couple to the requisite dinners and evening parties that the winter season always brought. At least they were not in London, both of them preferring the fresh air and less claustrophobic atmosphere of Yorkshire to Town. London at Christmas would be heaving with people and social engagements, none of which would be particularly welcome yet all of which must be attended. Better by far to remain in the country where one only had to pay a few necessary visits and could escape back to Locksley after an hour or so with no-one thinking anything was amiss.

She stepped down and looked up admiringly at her handiwork, hands on her hips.

'Well, that will do,' she said to no-one in particular, and went to join Mary in the drawing room.

It was only later, shortly before Anthony returned from the farms, that she remembered the post. To her surprise there was a letter for her, from London, and in a hand she did not recognise. Her surprise only grew upon opening it to discover its contents.

She kept the letter with her over the next couple of days, unsure of what to do. Anthony had been more than supportive about her writing the first letter - he had suggested it in fact - but she couldn't be sure that his support would extend to having a journalist for a wife.

Such a thing would have been unheard of a matter of a few years ago. Her father still lived in that world and would very happily see the female members of his family do nothing more taxing with their lives than the odd church fete or flower show. Fortunately she had married a man made of sterner stuff.

She hoped at least. Well, she'd have to tell him at some point so she might as well bite the bullet and find out exactly what he thought of this unexpected turn of events.

**A/N - Apologies for the delay in updating. Life has taken over again with new house/job plus uni but I sincerely hope I will be able to keep up with this fairly regularly, and also get back to Unexpected. The finale of DA was the best possible outcome as far as I could see, although I am disappointed they didn't make any mention of Anthony - he can't have just fallen off the face of the Earth when they live so close to each other!**


End file.
